“How can men be less slaves than the negroes of Saint Domingo of late? No real change has taken place; and yet you, who wept that freedom as rebellion, are now proposing to add your force to it.”
“And was it not rebellion? Some rose for the plunder of their masters—some from ambition—some from revenge—many to escape from a condition they had not patience to endure. All this was corrupt; and the corruption, though bred out of slavery, as the fever from the marshes, grieved my soul as if I had not known the cause. But now, knowing the cause, and others (knowing it also) having decreed that slavery is at an end, and given the sanction of law and national sympathy to our freedom—is not the case changed? Is it now a folly or a sin to desire to realise and purify and elevate this freedom, that those who were first slaves and then savages may at length become men—not in decrees and proclamations only, but in their own souls? You do not answer, father. Is it not so?”
“Open yourself further, my son. Declare what you propose. I fear you are perplexing yourself.”
“If I am deceived, father, I look for light from heaven through you.”
“I fear—I fear, my son! I do not find in you to-night the tone of humility and reliance upon religion in which you found comfort the first time you opened the conflicts of your heart to me. You remember that night, my son?”
“The first night of my freedom? Never shall I forget its agonies.”
“I rejoice to hear it. Those agonies were safer, more acceptable to God, than the comforts of self-will.”
“My father, if my will ensnares me, lay open the snare—I say not for the sake of my soul only—but for far, far more—for the sake of my children, for the sake of my race, for the sake of the glory of God in His dealings with men, bring me back if I stray.”
“Well. Explain—explain what you propose.”
“I cannot remain in an army opposed to what are now the legal rights of the blacks.”
“You will give up your command?”
“I shall.”
“And your boys—what will you do with them?”
“Send them whence they came for the present. I shall dismiss them by one road, while the resignation of my rank goes by another.”
“And you yourself by a third.”
“When I have declared myself to General Hermona.”
“Have you thoughts of taking your soldiers with you?”
“No.”
“But what is right for you is right for them.”
“If they so decide for themselves. My power over them is great. They would follow me with a word. I shall therefore avoid speaking that word, as it would be a false first step in a career of freedom, to make them enter upon it as slaves to my opinion and my will.”
“But you will at least address them, that they may understand the course you pursue. The festival of this morning will afford an opportunity—after mass. Have you thought of this?—I do not say that I am advising it, or sanctioning any part of your plan, but have you thought of this?”
“I have, and dismissed the thought. The proclamation will speak for itself. I act from no information which is not open to them all. They can act, thank God, for themselves; and I will not seduce them into subservience, or haste, or passion.”
“But you will be giving up everything. What can make you think that the French at Cap, all in the interest of the planters, will receive you?”
“I do not think it; and I shall not offer myself.”
“Then you will sink into nothing. You will no longer be an officer, nor even a soldier. You will be a mere negro, where negroes are wholly despised. After all that you have been, you will be nothing.”
“I shall be a true man.”
“You will sink to less than nothing. You will be worse than useless before God and man. You will be held a traitor.”
“I shall; but it will be for the sake of a higher fidelity.”
There was a long pause, after which Laxabon said, in a tone half severe, and half doubting—
“So, here ends your career! You will dig a piece of ground to grow maize and plantains for your family; you will read history in your piazza, and see your daughters dance in the shade, while your name will never be mentioned but as that of a traitor. So here ends your career!”
“From no one so often as you, father, have I heard that man’s career never ends.”
The priest made no reply.
“How lately was it,” pursued Toussaint, “that you encouraged my children, when they, who fear neither the wild bull nor the tornado, looked somewhat fearfully up to the eclipsed moon? Who was it but you who told them, that though that blessed light seemed blotted out from the sky, it was not so; but that behind the black shadow, God’s hand was still leading her on, through the heaven, still pouring radiance into her lamp, not the less bright because it was hidden from men? A thick shadow is about to pass upon my name; but is it not possible, father, that God may still be feeding my soul with light—still guiding me towards Himself? Will you not once more tell me, that man’s career never ends?”
“In a certain sense—in a certain sense, that is true, my son. But our career here is what God has put into our own hands: and it seems to me that you are throwing away His gift and His favour. How will you answer when He asks you, ‘What hast thou done with the rank and the power I put into thy hand? How hast thou used them?’ What can you then answer, but ‘I flung them away, and made myself useless and a reproach.’ You know what a station you hold in this camp—how you are prized by the General for the excellence of the military discipline you have introduced; and by me, and all the wise and religious, for the sobriety of manners and purity of morals of which you are an example in yourself, and which you have cherished among your troops, so that your soldiers are the boast of the whole alliance. You know this—that you unite the influence of the priest with the power of the commander; and yet you are going to cast off both, with all the duties which belong to them, and sink yourself in infamy—and with yourself, the virtues you have advocated. How will you answer this to God?”
“Father, was there not One in whose path lay all the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them, and who yet chose ignominy—to be despised by the world, instead of to lead it? And was God severe with Him? Forgive me, father; but have you not desired me to follow Him, though far-off as the eastern moon from the setting sun?”
“That was a case, my son, unique in the world. The Saviour had a lot of His own. Common men have rulers appointed them whom they are to serve; and, if in rank and honour, so much the greater the favour of God. You entered this service with an upright mind and pure intent; and here, therefore, can you most safely remain, instead of casting yourself down from the pinnacle of the temple, which, you know, the Son of God refused to do. Remember His words, ‘Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.’ Be not tempted yourself, by pride of heart, to compare your lot with that of Christ, which was unique.”
“He devoted Himself for the whole race of man: He, and He alone. But it seems to me that there may be periods of time when changes are appointed to take place among men—among nations, and even among races; and that a common man may then be called to devote himself for that nation, or for that race. Father, I feel that the hour may be come for the negro race to be redeemed; and that I, a common man, may